


shoulder the circus

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Established Relationship, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: jonny goes down, and patrick can't stay away. turns out, that's exactly what jonny needs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> set after the san jose game. 
> 
> [disclaimer: his shoulder is my best guess.]

Patrick keeps close when the game ends. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but after a night like this, there’s a different feeling to it, an underlying urgency that presses at the edges. It’s not intrusive, but quiet and calming, and frankly, exactly what Jonny wants. 

His eyes settle on Patrick the moment he peeks into the locker room, leaning just out of sight inside the doorframe of the trainer’s office to listen as Joel addresses the team. It’s brief, per usual, and then Brent stands to do the same in Jonny’s absence. He’s heard and given this spiel before, though, so he keeps watching Patrick instead, focusing on his stillness, on his silent scan of the room even as everyone else begins to undress and move about. 

He knows exactly what Patrick is looking for. Jonny isn’t sure it’s a conscious thing anymore.

He steps forward to let himself be seen, and Patrick’s gaze finds him immediately, the tension visibly melting from his shoulders as he looks Jonny over. Jonny finally feels like he can relax a little, too, when Patrick’s mouth twitches at the corner and he licks his lips, then starts removing his gear, like he needed to see Jonny first before he could. And that—Patrick’s attention and knowing he has it, like it’s this palpable thing for Jonny to hold onto—is what closes the gap across that stretch of disgusting carpet between them and gives him comfort. 

Patrick’s right there with him. 

 

Jonny’s chatting with Hossa a few minutes later when Patrick emerges from his first shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Jonny takes a moment to appreciate the sight of him, as well as be thankful for his own self-control. 

He wants nothing more than to put his mouth on every inch of Patrick’s body right now: those thick shoulders, sparsely freckled and beaded with water that Jonny wants to lick off; his smooth chest and perky nipples; his neck and that pretty mouth. Being in the locker room has taught him patience, though. The reward is in the anticipation, in knowing he can’t here, but that he will later. 

“Hey,” Patrick says, and it sounds like a sigh of relief. Jonny gets that; it’s good to be close to him. “Doin’ okay?” 

Jonny flexes his shoulder on instinct, stifling the urge to wince. “Decent.” 

Patrick chews on his bottom lip, and tucks a wet, stray curl behind his ear with his free hand. “Fair enough.” 

“Going to cool down?” Jonny asks, even though he doesn’t really need to. It’s routine: perfunctory shower, cool down, real shower. 

“Yep,” Patrick confirms. “You coming?”

It’s not an invite that’s handed out often. Jonny knows he likes the time alone, to think and unwind, win or lose. Tonight is different. 

“Sure,” Jonny says, to a tiny, satisfied smile from Patrick, and goes to wait by the door while he gets dressed. 

 

They’re quiet during Patrick’s fifteen minutes on the bike. He starts at a steady pace, then progressively slows as he works down from the game. They don’t need to say anything to fill the empty space; it’s comfortable, normal, and Jonny closes his eyes, content to listen to Patrick breathe and the wheels of the stationary turn until he’s done. 

The stretching is when Patrick gets to it. 

“What hurts?” he asks, pressing the ball of his foot against the wall and leaning in to extend his calf. 

In a minute, he’ll step back with his hands braced in front, and swing both legs, one at a time—back and forth, back and forth—to work out his hips and help loosen everything that’s been so tight all night long. Jonny’s mesmerized by this when he gets to watch, by the control and elegance that shine through in Patrick’s movements even in a simple stretch. 

“Upper body,” Jonny teases, fighting a grin, and Patrick snorts. 

“Ha ha, ve-ry funny. Spill it.” 

“Shoulder,” Jonny specifies, leaving out the ache in his wrist. It’s nothing more than a bump. 

“Which one?” Patrick continues, moving on to the other calf. 

“Left.” 

“Hmm,” Patrick grunts, and Jonny knows he’s running through a mental list of anything and everything Jonny’s ever done to it, trying to figure out if he’s aggravated something old or created something new. 

“It’s not bad,” Jonny tells him, and it feels true. One game, probably two—nothing more. It always, always sucks be to out, but it could sure as hell be worse. He tries not to dwell. 

“It’s not your head then?” Patrick presses. The hint of skepticism that flashes across his face is like a solid kick in Jonny’s gut. He’ll never forgive himself for keeping all that from him back then. It was so stupid, and Patrick certainly hasn’t forgotten it. 

“It’s not my head,” Jonny says, voice going soft and a tad shameful. Patrick’s quiet for a second, pausing his stretches to look at him.

His eyes narrow. “Well, why aren’t you icing?” 

Always the detective. 

“I have been,” Jonny reassures him. “I had a lot of time on my hands there.” 

“Well, I fucking hate it when you’re back here without—” Patrick starts, dragging his hand over his mouth on an inhale. He lets the breath out slowly, calmly. “When you’re back here and I don’t know anything.” 

“I know,” Jonny says, and he does know. It distracts and nags and frustrates, because they’ve got a job to do and that should be the focus, but Jonny can never seem to think totally straight after Patrick goes out either, no matter how hard he tries. “I’m here now though.” 

“And you’re good?” Patrick checks again, turning to look at him; it won’t be the last time, most likely. 

“I’m good,” Jonny confirms, and Patrick nods his head to himself, contemplative. 

“Tell me about the third, then,” he prompts, and Jonny launches into his analysis of what he saw on TV from the locker room—it’s much easier to catch things from up high than down low, in the moment—as Patrick finishes with his cool down. 

 

Patrick’s standing near the foot of the stairs when Jonny goes to board the plane, looking down at his phone and absently scuffing his shoe against the pavement. Jonny chuckles to himself when he realizes Patrick probably thinks he’s giving off an air of nonchalance and subtlety, just because he’s ignoring everyone as they pass. As if they all don’t know who he’s waiting for, anyway. 

His eyes shift from the screen to Jonny, and the smirk that breaks across his face promptly gives him away; he’s not even trying now. Jonny smiles back, closing in on him, and in typical Patrick fashion, he waits until Jonny’s just sure Patrick’s going to let him file on first, before intentionally cutting right in front of him. Jonny bumps gently into his back, stopping himself with both hands on Patrick’s hips. 

“Mmmmm,” he purrs, giving a firm squeeze, and bends his head down to nuzzle into Patrick’s neck, just a little, because he can’t help it; he smells so fucking good, like the soap they share and his floral, stupidly expensive shampoo. To someone behind them, it might look like Jonny’s innocently telling him something in his ear. To someone behind them who knows the deal, it might look like exactly what it is. 

Patrick briefly sinks back into him, so they’re touching all over, and Jonny can just see the corner of his mischievous smile. “Watch where you’re going, Toews,” he says, sounding way too proud of himself. “I’m walkin’ here.” 

Jonny slides one hand from Patrick’s hip around to his ass and squeezes that, too, as he ushers them slowly up the steps. “Yeah, uh huh,” he whispers, pressing swift kiss to the skin below his ear. “My apologies.” Then he playfully pinches the place where rear meets thigh, and just as Patrick jumps, Jonny feels a knee make contact with his own thigh from behind. 

“Hey, move it along a little faster, won’t cha?” Brent grumbles, dodging the elbow Jonny throws in his direction. “Couldn’t be more obvious if you tried, I don’t think.”

“Your jealousy is unbecoming,” Jonny shrugs, because he doesn’t give a single shit, to be honest, and heads after Patrick. It’s not his fault Seabs hasn’t seen his wife in two weeks. 

Besides, they’ve never been much for subtlety. 

 

Keeping with that same trend, Patrick doesn’t bother going into his adjoining room when they finally arrive at their hotel in LA around one-thirty in the morning.

Typically, they start separately, until one of them inevitably wanders through the always-open bathroom door. Jonny’s not sure why they still do that—just out of habit or for show, he guesses, so management doesn’t feel like they’re totally wasting money on another double, even if they are. 

Jonny tosses his bag on the floor at the far corner of the room, while Patrick slings his up on the table, immediately rifling through for his toiletries and sleep shirt. When Jonny turns around from getting his own, Patrick’s shrugging out of his jacket and loosening his tie, uncharacteristically dropping it all to the floor. 

That familiar, buzzing warmth tingles through Jonny at the sight of him stripping off layers, like it always does when they’re alone. He remembers a time when the road felt more like home than Chicago, because he got to have this—have Patrick close in private, in his shower, in his bed, in his arms. 

There are no rules now though, no boundaries between them. Home is where Patrick is, and Patrick’s always with him, the only change is in the scenery. 

They move around each other quietly and comfortably, in and out of the bathroom, readying for bed. Patrick brushes up against Jonny while he’s at the sink, hand sliding over the width of his back as he heads into the room, and Jonny feels a shiver run through him. Those slight touches, tiny reminders of Patrick’s steady presence, always seem to resonate so much deeper. 

Jonny wants him closer. 

He’s settled half-naked on the bed, watching Patrick finish with the last of his night stuff, when he can’t stand it anymore. 

Patrick’s back is to him, and he’s predictably folding his suit and tie and draping them neatly over the chair—Jonny knew that had to be bugging him. He’s wearing boxers and a thin, white tank that’s fitted across his shoulders and looser at the bottom, undoubtedly stretched from where Jonny’s run his hands beneath it to get to Patrick’s cool skin every night of the trip it’s gone unwashed. 

“Hey,” Jonny calls to him. 

“Hmm?” Patrick answers without turning, smoothing out his slacks and folding them in half. 

“You, uh, wanna maybe fool around some?” 

Patrick laughs out loud and peers over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What a come on.” 

Jonny laughs, too. “Did it work?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Patrick abandons his pants and saunters over with a new spring in his step, reaching behind his head to yank off his tank en route. “I always wanna fool around some.” 

Jonny’s heart beats faster as Patrick approaches, full to bursting with satisfaction and the desire to touch him. Jonny meets him in the middle when Patrick leans down to press their mouths together, cupping Jonny’s face in both his hands and breathing him in. Jonny’s careful to avoid putting too much weight on his left side as he moves back against the headboard, and Patrick knee walks along with him, straddling Jonny’s lap once they settle. Jonny grips Patrick’s thighs, massaging his way up to hold onto Patrick’s hips, fingers digging into taut muscle. 

“You’re hurt though,” Patrick mumbles after they kiss for a moment, breaking away to ghost his lips along Jonny’s jaw and down his neck. Jonny tugs Patrick even closer with two palms to his ass, helping him grind into Jonny’s abdomen. 

“My dick’s fine,” Jonny breathes out, and Patrick chuckles, sliding down to fit his ass over it perfectly and give Jonny some friction. With Patrick like this, he can barely even think about his stupid fucking shoulder, it feels so good. What injury? 

“I know,” Patrick whispers, nipping at his ear. “I can feel that. But seriously, you’re not too sore? Too tired?” 

Jonny takes Patrick’s chin in one hand and pulls his mouth back up for another kiss, brushing their noses together as he murmurs, “Never too tired or sore for you.” 

Patrick smiles softly and gives him a sweet, gentle peck. Then another at one corner of his mouth. Then a third at the opposite. Jonny’s overcome, and they’re just getting started. 

“Well, in that case…” Patrick trails off with a filthy grin. “Down we go.” 

He shuffles lower on the bed, kissing his way down Jonny’s body, mirroring the path with his hands until they make it to Jonny’s waistband. He slips his fingers underneath and tugs, and Jonny works his way south so he’s lying flat, pressing up with his heels so Patrick can rid him of his briefs. 

Jonny’s impossibly hard already, dick more than prepared for whatever Patrick wants to give him. Patrick’s been wiggling around on top of him for like, five whole minutes now, so of course he is. 

Patrick grins appreciatively, kissing the insides of Jonny’s thighs as he spreads them apart to settle in between. With that obscene tongue, he licks his hand to slick the way, holding Jonny in the tight circle of his fist, jacking him slowly from base to tip. 

Jonny groans, head lulling onto his pillow as Patrick goes to work; he keeps with the motion of his hand, then dips his head down to suck Jonny’s balls into his mouth, one after the other, with just the right amount of pressure. Jonny fights to keep still, but his hips seem to have a mind of their own, lifting off the mattress in search of more. 

“Feels so good, Peeks,” Jonny praises, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Patrick’s hair now that it’s longer again; the curls are a weakness of his, not that the shorter look wasn’t doing it for him—all of Patrick’s looks do it for him. 

Patrick takes Jonny’s dick in his mouth then, expertly tonguing at the head, the twist of his wrist at the base slowly taking Jonny apart. The sounds he’s making are almost too much to bear, slurping and moaning around him. Patrick loves the power he wields when he does this, really gets off on putting on a show too, and Jonny loves letting him have it. 

When Patrick uses his other hand to rub a single finger over Jonny’s exposed hole, Jonny moans, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep from doing anything louder. 

That. That’s what he wants. 

“Patrick,” Jonny says, voice cracking when Patrick takes him deep. “Pat, baby.” He nudges Patrick with his calf until he looks up, blue eyes blown black and so beautiful still. “You can fuck me, I want you to.” 

Those same eyes go wide in surprise, and Patrick pulls off with a pop. “Can I really?” 

It’s not that they don’t fuck during the season. That’s simply not feasible at all, to go that long without. But it’s harder on the road, with neighbors, long flights, late nights and a tougher schedule, to find the time and energy for more than a quick hand job or blowjob before bed. So when they do take it all the way, it’s sort of a special occasion, sexier and more illicit somehow. 

“I really wish you would,” Jonny replies, and Patrick kisses the tip of his cock, sucking gently at it and batting his pretty eyelashes as he plays with Jonny’s foreskin. He knows exactly what he fucking looks like.

“I guess it is the last circus trip,” he remarks, as if making memories is even partially the point here. 

Jonny lets out a breathy chuckle, giving him a tiny shove to get up. “You tryin’ to reminisce or find some lube?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes to spite his indulgent grin, and heaves himself up to go. “So needy when you’re injured,” he mutters over his shoulder, and Jonny ‘pffffts’ at him; he is just as bad, if not worse. 

Patrick’s back in a flash and somewhere along the way, he lost his boxers, much to Jonny’s delight. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, fisting his cock with a swagger that comes from knowing he’s a big boy, and knowing Jonny knows it, too. 

Jonny wants to feel it. 

“C’mon,” he beckons, spreading his legs and bending his knees, so Patrick can get where he needs to be, right in between to open him up. 

“Want you bad, Jon,” Patrick says, bending over him for a kiss before doing as he’s told, popping the cap on the lube to dispense some onto his fingers and moving down to Jonny’s ass. Jonny grips the sheets tightly, awaiting the first press of Patrick’s fingers, the cool slide of lube over his hole. 

Patrick doesn’t waste any time spreading Jonny’s cheeks to start, much to Jonny’s surprise, with his tongue, circling Jonny’s rim before testing its give. 

“Holy f-fuck,” Jonny chokes out, and Patrick ‘hmmms’ below him, licking at his hole over and over before flattening his tongue and trailing up his perineum. He sucks at Jonny’s balls again, while fitting a finger at his entrance, slicking it up and working inside to make room for what Jonny really wants. 

Three fingers, lots of stifled moans and writhing later, and Jonny’s ready—more than ready. Begging, in fact. 

“Patrick, please, I’m good,” Jonny whines. “God, I’m gonna fucking lose it if you don’t—”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Patrick croons, removing his fingers and bracing his hands on Jonny’s legs to lean forward between them. “You want it on your back?” 

Jonny doesn’t think his shoulder could comfortably accommodate anything else, even if he weren’t one hundred percent on board for fucking face-to-face. 

“Y-Yeah, yes,” he confirms, hands scrambling for Patrick. He reaches between Patrick’s legs to take his dick in hand, circling his width and thumbing over the head. “Inside me, please.” 

Patrick groans, resting his hand on Jonny’s neck when he moves in for a searing kiss. Jonny likes that way too much, the pressure, having Patrick possessive and all over him. He feels Patrick’s cock nudge at his hole, and he urges him forward with a heel to the small of his back. 

Patrick sinks in all at once, and Jonny cries out, nails scratching Patrick’s pale skin, making him hiss and undoubtedly marking him up. 

“Christ, Jon, you’re tight. Fuck, you’re so tight, I can’t breathe,” Patrick rambles, rolling his hips to a sharp gasp from Jonny. “Do you need a second?” 

Jonny feels everything so much: the perfect stretch of accommodating Patrick into his body; the overwhelming heat of him; the infinitesimal hitch of Patrick’s hips as he waits for the go-ahead, the way it rubs his cockhead just right against Jonny’s prostate. It’s only been a week or two since they’ve done it this way, but each time manages to feel a lot like the first for him, anyway—so overwhelmingly good. 

“You can move,” Jonny tells him, and Patrick lets out the deep breath he was holding and begins to thrust, out to the tip and back in to the hilt, tender and languid and building. When he can’t stop himself, he moves faster, harder, hips snapping and breaths going ragged. Jonny hangs on, smoothing his hands over Patrick’s back, taking everything he’s got to give and rocking into it for more. He knows he’s not being quiet, but there’s nothing to be done about it, with Patrick fucking him this way. 

“Shit, babe,” Patrick curses when he realizes how much movement is going on. He’s kissing all over Jonny’s chest and neck, sucking and biting to mark him back. “Is this okay? I’m not—your shoulder isn’t—is it? Talk to me.” 

“Okay?” Jonny lets out strangled laugh, yanking Patrick into a kiss. The word is an egregious disservice to what they’re doing here. “You’re fuckin’ perfect—it’s perfect. Don’t stop, I’m so close.” 

Patrick shortens his long strokes to quick, shallow presses into him that hit Jonny just right every time, and he can feel the sensation building, that tightness and heat sparking through him, so close to sending him toppling over the edge. 

“Yeah, yeah, Pat, c’mon,” Jonny encourages, forcing his eyes open to look at Patrick above him and between them where their bodies meet. There’s sweat forming on his brow, stray curls fluffing all over the place from where Jonny’s had his fingers in them. He’s so beautifully disheveled and falling apart himself, Jonny can’t take it. “Wanna feel you first, let me have it.” 

“O-o-oh, fuck, Jonny, fuck,” Patrick chokes out, thrusts going erratic with Jonny’s plea to let go. Two pumps of his hips later and he’s losing it, folding himself over on top of Jonny to grind in—in—in as he comes, face buried in Jonny’s neck. His cock’s in the perfect spot for Jonny to circle his own hips down, chasing that stimulation to orgasm. 

“Right there, baby, right there,” Jonny moans, balls tightening and load shooting up between them. Patrick’s hand is suddenly there too, jacking Jonny through it, working every last drop from him as Jonny rolls his hips to keep that feeling going. If it could last forever, he’d want it to. “Jesus, Pat, that was—fuck.” 

Patrick pulls out unceremoniously and collapses beside him with a low grunt, careful to rest on Jonny’s uninjured shoulder. “Fuck is right,” he mumbles, lazily kissing and nuzzling at Jonny’s neck as they come down. “Feelin’ good?” 

Jonny reaches across to cup Patrick’s face in his hand, tilting up so he can kiss him properly. “I feel like I love you.” 

Patrick’s answering smile is evident against his mouth; he bites at Jonny’s bottom lip, then kisses to soothe. “I feel like you better.” 

Jonny chuckles around a yawn, holding Patrick close. In a minute, they’ll clean up a little, and then pass out, but for now, this is good. 

“Love you too,” Patrick finally whispers back, and Jonny squeezes him tighter. 

This is everything.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> come find me @[toewsme1988](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com)/@[seabsneckbeard ](https://twitter.com/seabsneckbeard)!


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